


Oh, tuck away those ancient jugs of yours;

by Nasyat



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: But He Is Also A Proud Arrogant Jerk, Crude Humor, Dick Jokes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maxwell Has A Heart, Soft Maxwell, Swearing, Sweet Talents, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, Vulnerability, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Wilson Approves, Wilson Has A Dark Side, Wilson Really Didn’t Mean It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13377900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasyat/pseuds/Nasyat
Summary: ... “Can you even do ANYTHING?!” the distraught scientist yelled in his face, spit flying everywhere.After the shorty angrily stomps off into the woods, wounded Maxwell sets on proving the other man wrong with the only card he has up his sleeve.





	Oh, tuck away those ancient jugs of yours;

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from the song “Muppet Face” by Xiu Xiu; which, by the way, corresponds with a certain Maxwil scenario me and my RP buddy are working on... *winks* 
> 
> Enjoy!

The pitter patter of rain over the tarred canopy produced a cozy, tranquil atmosphere; Wilson softly snored, lying on his straw bedding face down. A hand reached over and pulled back the collar of the scientist’s shirt; then, another hand emerged, holding a fictile cup, and unhesitatingly poured cold water down the sleeping man’s neck.

Being so mercilessly jerked out of his slumber, Wilson leaped up, and swung his arms like a windmill of bones, blaring heartrendingly; he knocked the cup out of the offending hand and it flew off, hitting the ground with an unmistakable crunch. When Wilson’s mind cleared a little, he glared at the other man, panting, and roared, “MAXWELL, WH A T THE A CTU AL FU CK ?!!”

The former magician watched him, arms crossed at his chest. When the yowl ceased and Wilson fell back, clutching at his heart and breathing heavily, Maxwell pursed his lips and deprecatingly dropped, “We are out of food supplies. Go catch a rabbit or something, will you? I am starving.” When the scientist heaved and began coughing, he grimaced in disgust. “Are you cheesing, you whipster?..”

Wilson’s blood boiled with rage, and he rose to his unsteady feet, swaying. The man pointed with a shaking finger, and viciously uttered, “And WHY would I do that? You-“  
“Because you’re still wet behind your ears, snotter,” interrupted him Maxwell. Scientist’s face distorted in violent, uncontrollable anger, and he lashed out at the older man with a guttural growl. They engaged in a slap fight, until Wilson scored off, and towered over the arrogant prick, throwing blows at his foe.  
“You,” - smack! “can’t,” - smack! “even pick berries off a bush! Or sharpen a stick, or at least plant fucking peas, for fuck’s sake!” He slapped him with so much force, that Maxwell’s neck made a snapping sound, as his cheek hit the ground. “Can you even do ANYTHING?!” the distraught scientist yelled in his face, spit flying everywhere. Leaning back, he hocked a big loogie onto Maxwell’s suit. “...worthless piece of shit,” Wilson hissed, finalizing, and stormed out of the tent.

~~~

The sun was at the zenith, when the sullen scientist dared to show up at the campsite again. His wet hair was sticking out in all directions, unclear whether absurdly, or threateningly; lips tightly pressed together and brows strenuously furrowed, Wilson held two skinned rabbits in one hand, and a whole lot of flower crowns in another; a couple of those were already crookedly placed on his head, and a long garland looped around his neck, to be on the safe side; under the armpit he had securely tucked a Spider Gland. Upon approaching the base, he came to a halt, and irritatedly sighed, trying to suppress an overwhelming feeling of guilt that took over his chest and was now meticulously tearing his ticker apart. After trampling about for a bit, he huffed and threw on another wreath; after taking that (unnecessary) precaution, Wilson resolvedly strode off. 

Upon seeing the other man, scientist’s resoluteness deflated like a wet balloon. Maxwell was sitting on his hunkers with a sulky expression, fiddling with what appeared to be a piece of clay. Wilson scowled, heart racing and a little bit at a loss, and stepped closer. 

“..Hey.” When the other man didn’t respond, Wilson carefully laid down his bearings, and perched next to the former magician. After a pause, the scientist tried again, “Where did you get the clay?” Silence. It was clear that Wilson will not be granted an answer, at least for now; so the smaller man shrugged and resolved to simply observing. Observation was the initial scientific method, after all.

Maxwell’s knobby fingers were denting and smoothing the pliable material; as the previously amorphous lump started to take form, Wilson realized, with a start, that the older man was sculpting. After the piece of clay was put into general shape, Maxwell delved into meticulous refining. Wilson watched in slight awe, involuntary beginning to admire the flight of long hands, that were working the material in focused effort and delicate craftsmanship. Eventually, the former magician drew back, silently letting Wilson get a closer look at his handiwork.

It was a clay figure of a hare, or, perhaps, a rabbit - Wilson wasn’t sure which one it was, exactly. The little animal stood on its hind legs, as if on a lookout, - it wasn’t particularly life-like, of accurate, but Wilson found himself nonetheless impressed. He shifted gaze to the other man, and saw that Maxwell was studying the statuette as well, little smile ghosting over his lips as he seemed to take a pride in his work. “...I did a lot of sculpting as a child,” finally said the older man in a hushed voice. Then, with a played-up arrogance, he added, “Pretty good, huh?” He passed over the fact that rabbits was virtually all he could do, and that everyone who ever saw him making bunnies either mocked or scolded him.

Wilson blinked. The notion of this haughty old man being able to actually produce a work (work!) of art, struck him as splendid and, heart-squeezingly, unbearably... adorable. But before he could stop himself, he was already blurting out, “How cute,” sarcastically, and “I bet all the boys in the yard were yours!” Maxwell flinched, as if the scientist spat on him (..again), and made for the younger man with a growl, trying to push him in the chest, but Wilson managed to catch his slender wrists and hold him back. “Geez, Maxwell, I was just kidding, calm your tits, alright?” Maxwell was still trying to incinerate him with his glare, and the scientist offered, placatingly, “Look, I can’t even make a sausage outta clay! So I am not one to judge, really.” The older man took the bait and pulled back, grumbling; he freed his hands from Wilson’s grip and crossed them on his chest, touchily and defensively. The scientist sat back and scratched at his head. Then, he nodded at the leftover pile of clay, “..Can I have some, too?” Maxwell raised a brow at the younger man, but passed the material without saying a word. 

Wilson pinched off a little piece, and began rolling it in his hands. The former magician was watching his manipulations skeptically, albeit with a hint of curiosity. “...Well, to your credit, that one does kind of look like a sausage,” he muttered, but Wilson just took another, even smaller piece, and formed it into a ball. Then he made another sphere, and it turned out slightly bigger - ah, drat, he thought to himself, but it wasn’t really that important. Maxwell frowned, cocking his head slightly. “And what are these, meatballs?” 

“Genius,” went through Wilson’s head, “I am a fucking genius”. Then, with a straight face, he took the “sausage” and deliberately placed it between rabbit’s legs. Maxwell’s eyes widened, and he sputtered, incredulous, “wh-wuh... Higgsbury, what the hell are you..” he swept off the offensive object, but Wilson just picked it right up and passionlessly tried to stick it back, this time in tilted position, “S-stop!” he swatted scientist’s hands off as the other attempted to affix asymmetrical balls to this bulging “extension” to his poor rabbit. “WILSON!” Maxwell howled, and the scientist slowly fell back, choking on the hilarity of the other’s bewilderment and flushed complexion. 

A couple of minutes later the scientist finally calmed down. Wiping a tear from his eye with the finishing chuckle, he gazed up at the other man. Maxwell was pointedly not looking in his direction, all puffed up with resentment, lips slightly pouting. Wilson smiled at the sight, and clambered back up. Finally getting into a sitting position, he scooted over to the aggrieved man, and nudged at his side softly. “I didn’t know you were an artist,” he said in a lowered tone. Maxwell frowned and turned away. “Don’t sulk, you big baby....” Wilson looked the rabbit figurine over one more time, before stating, “...it is pretty good.” Maxwell visibly relaxed, his cheeks pleasantly gaining color. After a moment of hesitation, he muttered, voice so small it was barely audible, “...thank you”. Wilson broke into a big, goofy grin, and bumped his fist into the other man’s shoulder playfully; then, he saw something he’s almost forgotten about, and his smile faltered and fell. 

A big bruise bloomed on Maxwell’s cheek. Wilson glared at it darkly, feeling his soul being devoured by guilt anew. The other man glanced at him humbly, and a look of worry crossed his features, but Wilson just shook his head. The scientist rose to his feet and gathered the booty he discarded earlier; then, the younger man delved into the chest, clinking and grunting softly.

He returned to Maxwell holding a mortar. The scientist kneeled before the abated man and estimated the damage done. He reached out and touched the sore, swollen flesh, and Maxwell winced, shying away. “Shhhh, there, there,” - reassuringly, and Wilson caressed the man’s cheek to soothe the pain somehow. The former magician sagged, and whimpered quietly. The younger man swallowed a lump in his throat and tried to ignore the heart hammering at his rib cage, as he scooped up some of the Salve with his fingers. Hesitatingly, he applied it to the injured area, the concoction cooling down the other man’s heated skin. He was massaging the ointment into the “boo-boo”, when Maxwell’s soft, full lips parted, and he let out a breathy moan, causing Wilson to bite down on his own lip, hard. 

The scientist finally forced his hand to withdraw. Maxwell’s lashes fluttered, and he opened his clouded over eyes, looking at the other man with a half-lidded gaze. The scientist couldn’t help but sit forward; he uttered, voice thick, “...you know I didn’t mean all that, right?” The older man merely stirred his lips and shook head, befuddled.

The drizzle resumed at dusk; Wilson sat in the tent and listened to the low hum of countless raindrops sprinkling the earth. Maxwell was leaning on him, head resting somewhere in between Wilson’s chest and shoulder; he dozed off. The scientist reveled in this wonderful composition of sensory input. He half heard, half felt the older man’s even breathing; smelled the wild flowers, wilting in garlands... The former enemies’ stomachs were full with grilled rabbit, food giving their bodies enough energy to produce comforting warmth. And everything, decided Wilson, everything about this moment felt right - beautifully, cosmically, naturally, right.

He smiled, and Maxwell, who must have been dreaming of the very same thing, sighed happily and smacked his lips.

...He should make Maxwell do pottery, mentally decreed Wilson, - so the older man could put his skill to work. He chuckled, ruffling the other’s thin hair affectionately, and plunged back into thought.

**Author's Note:**

> What a couple of fools they are.  
> *chuckles* If you are wondering, they did share a kiss behind the curtain, I suppose; only one, but very aflutter, merely a brush of lips; and then they spend the longest of times just leaving soft touches on each other faces and shoulders, grazing cheeks and rubbing noses and bumping foreheads, all while quivering excitedly. Just, you know. Being gentle, ridiculous fools.  
> Hoo boy


End file.
